Shepard-Commander
by gregories
Summary: I literally have no idea where this is going. But I'm into it. Feel free to follow along.
1. Chapter 1

"Shepard-Commander."

If the synthesized voice weren't enough telltale, the odd enunciation of her name and rank left no doubt to its owner. "Mm?" she replied, her gaze transfixed on the combat sim data fresh from the day before.

"We have a query."

Shepard's eyes flickered up to meet its gaze, lingering over the piece of her old, marred N7 chestplate as she fixed in on its jittering optical orb. "Yes?"

"You are the first organic to openly trust a geth in several centuries. Whats more, you let us roam this ship freely while chastising any individual who disagrees with your methods." It's beam shifted downward as it hesitated. A remarkably human reaction. "We have been listening."

"I see," Shepard observed, tossing the data pad onto the AI Core's console. Logistics and running numbers would have to wait; straightening herself as she directed her full attention at the platform before her, she continued. "You've been doing a little more than listening, wouldn't you say?"

Another jittery pause. "We do not-"

"Spare me the politely interested version," she began slowly, steadily, letting her words sink in. "You've done your research here. You knew you would find me aboard that derelict Reaper, knew my search would lead me right to you. I want to know why."

Considering that a moment, the geth's response was defiant. "There was no way of knowing you would be aboard that vessel."

"You have a piece of my armor soldered into your frame, and you're trying to tell me this is all just coincidence? I don't buy it," she scoffed, droning as she crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one side. She was in no mood to play games with this thing.

"You misunderstand. We hoped for the chance to find you there, but there was no certainty. There have been... difficulties in locating you."

"So you _have_ been trying to find me."

"Via the extranet, we have followed your every move. Attempted to track you down at Eden Prime, Feros, Virmire, Horizon to name a few." Its shoulders tugged forward as its optics flickered uncertainly. "We have heard of your unfortunate predicament with Major Alenko."

Shepard got within an inch of that subtle blue beam, just daring him to continue. "That's none of your damn business."

"Acknowledged," the geth replied curtly after a few heartbeats. She retreated a step backwards, incredulous and temper flaring all the same. She wasn't about to discuss what happened on Horizon with anyone, human or machine. "Regardless, we had been trying to locate you for some time until the news of your death. We ceased our search, taking your death as a critical loss to our cause and moving forward, analyzing the best way to proceed. Our paths have crossed as we endeavor to the same end, and now we request your assistance."

"With what?"

"Instead of selling this platform to your Illusive Man and making a profit or benefiting your war against Reaper-controlled geth, you requested that we remain aboard the Normandy. Why?" Instead of answering her question, it was questioning her motives. Alright. She could play that game.

"I don't know. Maybe I feel you could benefit our war in other ways."

"Such as?"

"Helping us defeat the Reapers."

What could only be described as facial fins seemed to tilt at her response, much like eyebrows would on an inquisitive human. Maybe she'd struck a chord. "It appears our request is not needed."

"What?"

Turning to the keyboard interface on the opposite side of the room, it continued. "We have similar goals. The Old Machine, or Reaper as you call them, eradication will not be seamless, and we have not yet determined a means of attack, but we will join your crew in correlation with our primary objective."

"Hang on," she stammered, holding up a hand. "You were trying to find me to ask for my help destroying the Reapers?"

"Yes," it replied simply.

It was the Commander's turn to blink rapidly. "But you're a geth. You helped Sovereign during the Battle of the Citadel, served as an army for Saren. Weren't you the ones looking at the Reapers as some kind of sapient gods and willingly stood as its battle fodder?"

"A common misunderstanding. We are geth, this mobile platform specifically housing 1,183 programs that share a unanimity throughout our mainframe. However, the geth you fought following Saren and the Old Machines are no longer linked within our network. The mainframe was divided after a split consensus was reached concerning the ensuing war."

"Some of you chose not to side with the Reapers," Shepard said slowly, dissecting this information. Her gut had been right after all. This geth was different.

"Yes." Pausing from the console, it called up an image of one of the massive capital ships on its omni-tool. "The beings you refer to as Reapers are revered by a sect of our kind for their highly advanced technology as the perfect evolution of consciousness, a sentient and extremely powerful artificial intelligence. Those geth do not see them as a threat, but rather as masters to be served."

"Sovereign thought of your kind as nothing more than tools." The conversation on Virmire had been less than pleasant, and its recollection left a foul taste in her mouth. "It even said it was insulted by the worship the geth 'threw' at it."

"With every program 'thrown' at the Old Machine, our consciousness grew smaller. They coveted the one you call Sovereign as Nazara, meaning 'truth'. They believe the Old Machines are the key to the future of our kind."

"And what do you believe?"

"We believe as you do, Shepard-Commander: the Old Machines will not lead us to an enlightened path of higher purpose. We will either die for them or by their hand unless they are exterminated."

Nodding in approval, she dismissed herself at a brisk pace towards the main level. "I like the way you think."


	2. Chapter 2

Shepard didn't like to make a habit of disobeying her superior officers, yet she couldn't discount the frequency with which she did was growing all the more regular. A facade of calm and resilience had given her remaining squad the courage to follow her onto a derelict Reaper to secure the IFF, without which they would not be able to forgo the friend or foe mechanism it triggered once they entered the Omega 4 Relay. A prerequisite suicide mission before_ the _suicide mission. But now, grateful for her bangs, she hid behind them as the comm feed cut and Admiral Hackett faded from view. The memory of the debriefing was scorched behind her eyelids. Many emotions had passed over his graying features, but three were most prevalent: his worry had only lasted through part of her retelling of the events aboard the dead Reaper, quickly turning into outrage at her willingness to work with a mysterious geth unit they encountered while on board, and finally dissolved into disappointment at her denial to turn it over to the Alliance immediately for study and the safety of the crew. It wasn't something she could put into words - not yet anyway - but there was something significantly different from this variant drone other than the linguistic program it used to communicate with organics. And then there was the irking question of her armor - how in the hell had a geth acquired a piece of her old N7 suit, vintage from when she was spaced and pronounced dead those two years ago? Something was awry, and for whatever good it did she had vowed to Hackett she would get to the bottom of it.

What better time than the present?

Pushing away from the ledge of the alcove that housed her private terminal, Shepard made for the door but paused a few steps in. There it was again. Pinching the bridge of her nose she tried to force away the lingering, dull aching pressure that had built up behind her eyes. While the sensation returned occasionally, usually after taxing missions against the Reapers, it had grown noticeably in severity during their search for the IFF. _Some pain killers before bed again, I suppose. It's starting to feel like a chore._

What attracted Legion to the AI Core, whether it be its isolation or its versatility, Shepard couldn't fathom. Still, it left the droid easy to find.

"We need to talk," she demanded, pounding her way over to where it stood.

"Shepard-Commander-"

"No. Follow me." Turning on her heel, she marched back the way she came, half expecting the doors to close behind her without accompaniment. Her fury ebbed slightly when the sound delayed long enough for someone to follow at a cautious distance.

* * *

"No visitors until we're through, EDI," Shepard called out as she exited the elevator.

"Yes, Shepard," the AI acquiesced, the Commander hearing the lock of her door click into place as she and her guest crossed the threshold. The geth had followed quietly behind her, stumped no doubt at her outburst on the Crew Deck. But she was looking to get a response out of him, not shocked silence. She strode to the desk that housed her private terminal, spinning on her heels to face the droid as she leaned against the counter's edge.

"Do you know who I was just on comm with?" Her words sounded like a bite, even to her.

"This platform does not have access to incoming or outgoing communications from this location. A cross-reference of comm buoy feeds might-"

"I just denied a direct order from Admiral Hackett of the Alliance Navy to hand you over."

The silence echoed off the walls as if she'd screamed at the top of her lungs. But patience rewarded her after several heartbeats.

"Thank you."

The Commander blinked. "What?"

"Thank you," was the synthesized repeat.

"I don't want your thanks, or anyone else's, for not doing my job."

A briefer silence separated their exchange. For supposedly being designed for interacting with organics, this guy wasn't so hot at volleying her responses. Or maybe it was just her.

"We do not understand."

"He seems to believe you're still a threat to not only me and my crew, but anyone else who intends to tangle with the Reapers."

"As previously mentioned, our goal is mutual. We wish to eradicate the Old Machines, as do you."

"What's stopping you from changing your mind and playing Benedict Arnold? Better yet, how do I know you're not collecting data at this very moment and sending it to some ship just waiting to take a crack at us?"

"You don't." It's tone was unwaveringly confident for having said such a profoundly unsettling statement. Before Shepard could think of a retort, it continued. "You have challenged our reasoning since reanimation of this unit was complete. Do you not trust us as initially assumed?"

"Trust is earned," she clarified.

"What has earned our place aboard your ship thus far? Does this gesture not imply a sense of trust?"

"Helping me, saving me and my team's life back on that Reaper gave me good enough reason to be open minded. I've also never seen a geth fire upon its own kind. That earned you some bonus points. But that doesn't mean I'm sold on the idea of one rogue geth coming to our rescue on an enemy ship having an entirely different loyalty and 'consensus' than every other geth I've ever encountered."

"There are other platforms such as this that believe the heretics to be incorrect in their worship of the Old Machines. The fact that you have not encountered them is not unlikely; having fought against Saren Areterius prior to the destruction of the Normandy SR-1, your mission centered around the annihilation of the heretics, which were the only geth to travel within organic space and therein pose as a threat. Unanimity of our sect dictated that we remain beyond the Perseus Veil until such a time that we might enlist the aid of organics to support our cause. Research led us to you, Shepard-Commander. You were and remain to be the most likely path to our success in ridding the galaxy of the Old Machines. This platform was then created to search you out. Others that challenge the heretics still lie within the Perseus Veil. We seek to dwell in harmony. Opposition to our existence has forced our hand, as it has yours."

_This just keeps getting better and better_, she mused. "Okay. Now just tell that to the Alliance Navy. Not literally," she assured in a rush, tugging the hovering three-pronged grip down away from its omni-tool. "You know Hackett will just want proof."

"We regret that we do not have additional data to offer your former superiors."

"I - they're technically still my superiors. Ergo the reason I'm trying to maintain contact with them. Death doesn't get you out of the navy, or, at least it shouldn't."

Facial fins flaring, the geth before her actually cocked its head in question, but chose to assess rather than inquire. "You do not like being thought of deceased or reanimated."

"Because it wasn't a death. Science and medicine brought me back. And a boatload of money; from what they tell me, I rang up quite a tab."

"You imbue comedy to retell your death."

"I didn't DIE!"

_That-that one was a scream_, she realized too late. An inch from the menace's head, she watched her breath coat its ocular orb with a fine sheen of fog. Her composure was already in the rear-view waving back at her - not that invading a synthetic's personal bubble was something she was overly concerned with, but she needed a moment to gather herself before telling him to beat it.

"You reanimated this platform." It was so loud in her ears, she questioned whether it'd come from an external source. But the culprit made to continue. "It was nonfunctional when you gained possession of it."

"Are you drawing parallels between yourself and I?"

"We are vastly knowledgeable in every aspect of your being; any and all history that has been shaped by you, we have access to. We were reanimated by you as you were by Cerberus. Are we incorrect in our assessment?"

"Your _assessment_ lacks vital differences," she patronized. Angst seeped from her every pore - _another headache_, she dismissed. "It's written in the details. I was pronounced dead, unsalvageable. There's no reason for me to be standing here at this very moment."

"It is unlikely this is what's causing you ill-ease given your experience with near-death situations."

"No, no, no." Shepard swatted at the notion, turning her body and face away from the machine across her. Her hands on the coolness of her desk felt calming, familiar enough to draw strength from. "You were rebootable. I'm-I knew that one day that'd be it. I'd go as far as I could and then eventually, one day, that'd be it." Words as thick and heavy as her memories of her last moments formed a blockage in her throat, slowing her reminisce. "The last thing I remember is the suffocating. The pressure of the void replacing the oxygen in my suit. Then I wake up after being dragged into something no one should have found a way to dredge me out of. You have an immeasurable lifespan. I'm sure your kind could live forever if allowed to."

"If allowed to?"

Shepard stole a glance behind her. A solitary beam surrounded by upturned panels - inquisition, maybe? "Sure. I mean," _wasn't it obvious?_ "Geth don't just die of natural causes, do they?"

"Our bodies do not deteriorate at a rate as exponentially short as human tissue, but we can be terminated."

"Anything can be killed," she agreed. Where was it going with this?

"Arguably, only sentient beings such as the Old Machines and organics such as yourself can be killed. Wherein lies the difference between ending a machine's 'life' and yours?"

"I'm not sure I follow," the Commander admitted.

"We are trying to comprehend your reasoning for differentiation. Are you implying that because the geth are not already living that when we cease to function it is not the same as, say, your own death?"

"Are you trying to say you're not alive?" she countered.

"Do you believe as such?"

"This is turning into a fencing match," exasperation profound in each syllable as she muttered it. "You're an advanced AI species. You rose up in self-awareness - a fact that led to the war between the geth and the quarians."

"The Morning War," the platform before her consented.

"The what?" she faltered.

"A term coined by the geth to depict the conflict between the geth and our Creators."

"My point exactly; your sapience is exemplified by the fact that your race can do such a thing. It doesn't matter whether you were programmed or lived in a cave, you still evolved into a people that knew they were alive."

"We... Acknowledged."

"Yet humans are meant to expire. We have limitations."

The droid considered that for several seconds. "Centuries ago, your species did not have the technology it does now. Fields of science and medicine that are present today did not exist. Your lifespans were even shorter; approximately equal to that of a salarian."

Her thoughts flew to Mordin. It was common knowledge that salarians had such a short blink of years to live. Sorrow stabbed at her chest at the connection between the facts and her crewmate.

"Medi-gel, organ transplants, prosthetics: none of this had been developed yet," it carried on, completely devoid to her internal havoc. "Why then should you view the procedure done to you as anything other than a scientific advancement developed to extend your life?"

_Oh._

So that was the meat and potatoes of this whole thing. It believed that the differences between what happened to itself and her weren't all that different. And when put to her the way it had, she could see why.

"You know, I don't have any idea as how to address you."

"Meaning?"

"Your name would be decent place to start."

"Geth."

"I mean you, specifically."

"We are all geth."

_You've got to be joking._ "As an individual, the one I am talking to. I want to know what to call you."

"There is no individual. This platform is comprised of over one thousand active programs, each of which geth."

"Are you being cheeky?" Stamping a heel against the tile beneath her feet by means of not lashing out at the driod further, she was saved by a voice emitting from the corner of her hub.

"'My name is Legion, for we are many.'" The spherical dome had dropped in unexpectedly, but with a much-welcomed solution.

"Christian Bible, Gospel of Mark, chapter five, verse nine. We acknowledge this as an appropriate metaphor. We are Legion, a terminal of the geth."

"Thank you, EDI," Shepard acclaimed.

"For what purpose did you wish to address us, specifically?" Legion queried.

In a gesture she hoped the machine's intimate knowledge of the extranet would recognize, Shepard extended a hand between the two of them. "I wanted to thank you. Properly."

Unsure, it delayed a slow raise of the appendage mirrored to hers, slowly clamping its digits. The pressure was off from most handshakes, but it was surprisingly human in its bungling. She idly wondered why the semblance continued to surprise her. Trying to conceal the slow smile playing at her lips, she bowed her head in gratitude. "It's always nice to get a new perspective on things. This one, I think I definitely needed."

"We are happy to be of service." Released from each other's grips, the geth turned back the way they'd come, stopping short at the threshold. "We would also like to thank you for deeming us worthy of life."

"I'm just one person, Legion. My say doesn't really go all that far."

The fins above its orb turned inward, direct. "'It only takes one.'" And with that, it was gone.

A slow march to her bedside felt like she was moving boulders, falling to the mattress with a languid flourish.

"Only one to what?"

But the empty room held no answers for her. Not now.


	3. Chapter 3

The faint latch of her cabin door barely caused her to stir through the fog of her migraine. It wasn't until she heard the leather of her settee sigh as it gave way to a body's occupation that she groaned sardonically at the intruder's presence. _Get. Out._

"Can it wait," she muttered into her pillow, not entirely hoping for a response.

"You're not in the middle of any calibrations, are you Commander?"

Emeralds flared to life as her eyes opened with a pop. Forcing her torso upward, she squinted at the oppressive synthetic light until a set of marred mandibles came into focus. "Garrus?"

"I thought that might get your attention."

A guffaw escaped her throat. "What are friends for if not sleep deprivation. What's up?" she pressed, leaning forward as she crossed to the edge of the mattress.

"I wanted to check in on you. Usually you stop by the battery to see me at some point during your rounds; helps give me piece of mind that you're still alive. I was getting lonely."

He was rewarded with a bout of genuine, albeit light laughter. "I'm not dead yet. Can't say these headaches won't be the death of me, but that's old news."

"Actually, I was talking about our newest - addition? Guest? The geth that everyone's still tiptoeing around. Why, what about your head?"

Shepard swatted at the projected worry. She didn't need to give her closest friend cause for concern when they had such more pressing issues to fence. "What about Legion?"

"Who?"

"EDI came up with it," Shepard edified fondly. The initial hesitance at an AI aboard her ship had quickly dissolved after weeks of watching it work firsthand. Not only was data from all core systems streaming flawlessly, ship performance was at a gradual increase. With each new crew member's specialties they gained invaluable design upgrades, and the same was no different of the ship-wide intelligence. More than that, as the crew grew more familiar with her peculiarities, they noticeably enjoyed her rather impressive banter. Shepard couldn't ignore the positive effect it was having on everyone aboard, even its original antagonist, Joker. Garrus' smirking shift of his mandibles only confirmed her assumptions.

"Fitting; one AI christening the other. I'm hoping she shows him how to take a joke one of these days."

"Attempts to transfer a rudimentary set of repartee's and witticisms has proven ineffective," the voice, right on cue, sounded from its respective hub. "Legion has deemed such exchanges 'unnecessary at this time.'"

"Really?" Shepard and Garrus' surprise was simultaneous, though he continued with, "You know I was just joking myself, right EDI?"

"I was not. He has what you'd call a very dry sense of humor."

"You don't sound too happy about it. Hoping to swap some practical jokes, one AI to another?"

"If that were the case I certainly wouldn't tell the two individuals on board whose food, when swapped and ingested, would cause a rather interesting reaction... that was a-"

"Joke, and a damn scary one," Garrus intervened. "Remind me never to piss you off."

"I would have thought that was implied."

Removing the hand she'd been using to stifle her mirth, Shepard made to continue. "Legion hasn't been causing any problems, has he?"

"Quite the opposite," Garrus assured her. "If anyone even acknowledges his presence, it's a miracle. He never leaves his little section of the ship - not that he has to. I don't suppose geth have the same... needs as the rest of the crew - and it would put a few minds at ease if they didn't feel as if there was this unknown lurking on the Normandy. We've all considered geth the bad guys since this whole thing began. Legion isn't doing anything to change that."

"You think he should get out and stretch his legs once in a while?"

"Exchange with the crew, get a few good first impressions. 'Transfer some witticisms,'" he added.

"Agreed," EDI chimed.

"Alright. I'll send for him in a few." Shepard gathered herself and rose to her feet, her slightly exaggerated motions careful not to betray the way her mind had all but turned to jelly. Heading for her alcove, she paused thoughtfully as she passed her dearest friend. "By the way. What brought this on? I just saw him not even an hour ago."

"That's probably when I passed him coming out of the elevator. I was heading up and he was getting out on Crew Deck. It was not your usual, 'hey, how's it going?' See, Shepard-Commander may have a certain ring to it in a synthetic vocal range, but Vakarian-Inspector? I could have died happy not knowing that existed." Reaching out with talons receded, Garrus laid his hand on the sleeve of her uniform, a gesture that caused more concern than it conveyed. "As for whatever's wrong with your head, you should see Chakwas. We need you and that mind of yours working at full capacity for whatever greets us on the other end of the Omega 4 Relay, and I know I'd feel better putting my life on the line behind someone who can think straight."

"Sorry." Garrus always had a way of putting things that humbled her into acquiescence. Plus, he made a valid point. "I'll go stalk the doctor for more than pain pills next time."

"Thanks. And Shepard." He'd turned back, remembering something in a far-away gaze that shown through on the rarest of occasions. Garrus was always so in the moment; it was one of the many things she admired him for. The ability to block everything out besides the matter at hand and grab it by the horns. This time, it appeared he had let himself remember something he'd tried to bury. Perhaps her concern caused his pause, his reconsideration. "Nevermind. Just, do me a favor? Keep an eye on those headaches. We don't want them to get... out of hand." And with that, the door to her cabin swiped shut behind him.

_Well that's not good_.

* * *

The corridor outside the elevator shaft of Crew Deck was quiet. The new Normandy operated on a 25 hour day and night cycle, nearly identical to that of Omega, for the purpose of giving its crew a sense of when to rest and rise in between missions. Although they were free to keep whatever hours they chose, the commander noticed that the majority of the team still fell into the routines of living planetside and rested during the ship's late phase, especially those that didn't accompany her in combat. Ship life meant regularity, and so she was not surprised to hear only her footfalls as she took a sharp left out of the elevator and headed towards the Med Bay.

"Dr. Chakwas," Shepard greeted as she strode toward the regal woman sitting beside her usual terminal. _Strange - shouldn't she be sleeping as well? Not that I'm not grateful, but-_

"Hello, Commander," was the doctor's warm reply. She never failed to make someone feel right at home the moment they walked through her doors. "Garrus popped in to tell me to expect you before heading to his post at the main battery."

_Ah._ "Well isn't he thorough."

Dr. Chakwas shook her head as she made for Shepard's temples. "Don't patronize. He only wants to see you healthy and happy, Commander. We all do." Gently massaging where ebony black met soft, pale flesh, her questioning eyes searched Shepard's. "Do you feel any pressure from these headaches? Dizziness or shortness of breath?"

"You could always just use your omni-tool for this, doc."

But the doctor wasn't tolerating evasion, even if it was out of a slight pang of exasperation at Garrus having briefed her already. "I could probe you to check your temperature as well if you prefer. No worries, I'll run a scan once I'm satisfied. Readouts don't do justice to when someone subconsciously twitches out of pain."

"I-"

"Too late," Chakwas fenced. A stewing Shepard was forced to endure another five minutes worth of examinations before deemed worthy of a second check up three days from now, some stims to help during the day, and an order for at least seven hours of sleep a night. While she'd always appreciated the motherly, attentive doctor, she didn't feel a headache warranted cause for so much concern. Was there something Garrus and Chakwas were in on that they were keeping her in the dark from? Or was she just being paranoid? Shepard entered the AI Core whilst worrying on the fullness of her bottom lip, distracted and, if she were being honest with herself, slightly concerned.

"Shepard-Commander." Lifting her gaze to meet that of the geth's ocular orb, Shepard pushed the lingering nag that was her worry to the far recesses of her faculties. She had other things to contend with at the moment.

"I was wondering if you had another few minutes to spare today?"

"We are not currently engaged in any crucial functions that an exchange would render-"

"You can just say yes or no, Legion. I-I'm sorry, I don't mean to snap, but my stims haven't done their job yet."

"And they won't at any point tonight," came Chakwas' reproval at the door. How had Shepard missed the absence of the latch locking? Maybe she really did need to take a mental health day. "If you're to have this conversation tonight, it will be with the commander either resting in bed or, at the very least, humoring an old woman and taking a seat while doing so."

Shepard threw her hands up in mock surrender. "Alright! Alright, relax. I've made a living out of keeping my head from exploding, I'll continue to make the effort through rest and relaxation."

Legion looked, to say the least, lost but made to follow her to the elevator for the second time that day all the same. This time, however, he spoke up once they were enclosed on the steadily rising platform. "We overheard your conversation with the doctor. She seemed... concerned."

"I'm fine," was her automatic reply, but she deftly shook her head. Being headstrong wasn't going to get her anywhere with this. "I've just had a pounding headache for the past few weeks. It comes and it goes, and lately stays around for longer than I'd like it to. It couldn't have anything to do with my line of work though, could it?"

A flicker of his - _its? No,_ Shepard realized with a start. She'd been mentally referring to Legion as 'he' since her conversation with Garrus earlier that afternoon. It was somehow more fitting that way - beam was her initial response, followed with, "You are trying to make light of your condition?"

"It's not really a condition," she challenged. "More like a mild plague."

"If you are not functioning at normal parameters, is this not a cause for concern?"

Shepard's mouth pinched uncomfortably. "I don't want everyone to start worrying over nothing. We've got bigger things to tackle than me getting a stress headache now and again."

"You do not want the people you work with to deviate from the 'bigger picture.'"

"Exactly." Finally, someone who understood. The loft, as the crew had dubbed it, came into view as the doors slid from sight, allowing them passage to her quarters. Crossing the short distance to her threshold, she continued in earnest. "The Collectors are the only thing our minds should be on right now."

"Impossible," deemed the geth at her side. "Environmental factors play a vital role in the majority of daily neural function, often distracting oneself from what may appear to be a more pressing task at hand. You have formed emotional attachments with many of your comrades; your well-being inadvertently affects them as well both on and off the battlefield."

Surprisingly touched that Legion had come to this conclusion, she suspected on his own, Shepard took her pause as an opportunity to offer the synthetic a seat while she sank into a far corner of her lounge before attempting to shift subjects. "Speaking of forming emotional attachments, that's sort of the reason I asked you up here."

"You wish to form an emotional attachment with this unit?"

"Not just me," she chuckled amiably. "But the crew feel a little left out. You're holed up in the AI Core too much. You should get out more, interact with your shipmates. Maybe make a few friends in the process."

"For what purpose?"

"What reason do any of us make friends?" Shepard reasoned.

"For organics-"

"No, no, no. I'm stopping you right there. Forget about all that. No organic and synthetic divisions. Proceed with my question as if the differentiation didn't matter."

"...no data available."

"What do mean?"

"Organics form attachments out of a need for social interaction. It is deemed necessary to have civil relation skills of some extent, that it is healthy. Organics may be able to function independently, but thrive when en masse."

"And the geth are a people with a unified neural network, something similar to what we saw with the rachni?"

"Geth cannot share sensory data as a hive mind is able, but rather distribute processing power. The more geth in a vicinity, the more complex our reasoning and thought processes become."

"'Two heads are better than one.'"

Legion's metallic fins concaved inward around his photoreceptor, considering her words. "A valid similarity. We will proceed with your line of questioning: synthetics and organics alike need others to become more self-aware."

"Not only self-aware, but aware in general. You may not need to know what Joker did to break his thumb last week, or how Kasumi has magically amassed a few more pieces for her collection since we've recruited her, but you will become more aware of your environment and the people you share it with. It's an enlightening experience to get to know the people you work alongside, especially when you could be putting your life in their hands one day."

"As previously stated, Shepard-Commander believes that we, the geth, have lives worth putting into others hands?"

She chewed on her next words, carefully constructing them before saying them aloud. "I hope you won't be offended if I think of you as a person, whether you share that view or not."

The silence her conviction was rewarded with stood testament to Legion's bemusement, but Shepard waited patiently for him to formulate his next thought. "We... do not fully understand," Legion ceded. "We will do as you suggest and seek attachments with those aboard this ship. May we begin with you?"

Shepard tilted her head back and smiled off a laugh. "And here I thought that we already had," she couldn't help but jeer.

"How so?"

"Well, we've been spending more time together chatting than anyone else I've run across today. That's a start."

"Time is a factor in these processes?"

"Well sure. You're not going to become best friends overnight. You wouldn't want to anyway," she interjected with a raised, halting hand as he made to counter or continue, which she didn't know. "You want strong bonds with good people. Work it around each other's daily habits, schedules, and sleep patterns, please. Least I get a lot of angry complaints that I encouraged you to go pulling people out of bed or work just to chat about the weather. But be social. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised."

"Can you offer any further assistance in this area? Perhaps facilitating an initial foundation differentiating between the varying physiologies of the crew members?"

"Well. Firstly, no one on board would take those many words to say, 'how can I strike up a conversation with these guys?' Try layman's terms as much as possible, they're a lot more amicable in conversation."

"Acknowledged."

"I think you can find out the rest for yourself, really. Zaeed's been a mercenary for God knows how long, he's seen his fair share of action; appeal to that. Grunt's interested in krogan history and finding his place in it. Kasumi's well-natured, just strike up a conversation with her. Possibly about some of her more notable heists? She's got pieces decorating her room to attest to it; use them to strike up a topic. Samara's also been around the block, and justicar's are at the same time very complex and simple in their ways. Garrus likes guns. If you start talking about recalibrating the Normandy's cannons, he'll go for hours. Thane has an eidetic memory; you ask him about any point in his past and he'll be able to recall it. Joker and EDI seem to have some interesting times in the cockpit; you might be especially interested in EDI's humorous side. Humor and sarcasm can translate into any language even if the references may differ and it, for lack of a better depiction, inflicts Joker's work constantly. Mordin's a colorful guy; he can carry a tune, make a diagnosis in under a minute, and kill you without you ever knowing it. Miranda and Jacob seem like people dedicated to their cause; get them going on it. Pipe in what you think. Contribute to all the conversations and if they volley a question back at you, respond as you would want them to respond. Morals and ethics are a whole different conversation, but it boils down to treating others the way you'd want to be treated: with respect."

"And if we make a mistake?"

Shepard shrugged. "That's life. You can either choose to give up or keep trying."

Legion's weight shifted as his orb fluttered, fins rotating outward and upward. _What emotion was_ that_?_

"Thank you, Shepard-Commander. We will keep you up to date on our progress, as well as attempt to better associate... to get to know you better," he reconsidered. She'd be lying if she said his words didn't leave a warmth in her heart. "Our endeavor begins tomorrow at the first scheduled meal of the day." Taking his leave, the drone made for the entryway. Shepard, a happy aftertaste lingering in the air around her, gathered herself enough to head for the suite's private bath and freshen up before bed. The way her talk with the geth had gone, she felt proud enough to have deserved a little self-pampering tonight. She was forced to stop a few steps in, seeing her guest still lingering around the corner to her alcove.

"Everything alright, Legion?" she worried aloud, eyebrows constricting as the pitch in her voice rose.

An almost imperceptible tilt of his head signaled he had heard her. "Pleasant dreams, Shepard-Commander." The sentiment was so softly spoken, she wondered whether she'd heard him right. Shepard never got the chance to ask; he faced the door once more and disappeared through it a moment later.

"...goodnight."

"Should I extend my thanks for your 'buttering him up?'" EDI's digitized tones resounded as Shepard crossed to her mattress some minutes later, throwing herself unceremoniously onto the sheets. Rubbing her cheek across her pillowcase, she couldn't remember them ever being softer or more inviting.

"You can thank me by not waking my up until I've gotten at least seven solid hours of sleep. Doctor's orders," she yawned. The tendrils of sleep were already tugging at her consciousness after the sedatives she had stored in her medicine cabinet for just such occasions began to kick in.

"Yes, Commander."

The room fell silent once more and Shepard's eyes creaked shut until there was no more aggravating false light, no pounding left in her head, and no more consciousness to be had for one peaceful evening.


End file.
